


Freyja's Gift

by TextualDeviance



Series: The Raven and the Dove [15]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Birth, F/M, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 13:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1781329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TextualDeviance/pseuds/TextualDeviance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The baby's not even his, but as Aslaug gives birth, Athelstan is flooded with worry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freyja's Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place shortly after 2x01. Follows [Woman's Intuition](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1758107)

The last time Athelstan heard a woman screaming like this, what followed was one of the most frightening, devastating things he'd ever encountered. Third most, at least, behind the attack on his monastery and witnessing the sacrifices of which he should have been part.

That Aslaug's pregnancy, unlike Lagertha's, had been entirely healthy and untroubled still didn't set his mind at ease.  He found himself wanting to be there, in the earl's quarters, helping in whatever way he could. Such a thing wasn't possible, of course. Lagertha would likely have let him be near had her baby come at the normal time, but Aslaug still treated him with a measure of disdain, if not distaste. His presence would not have given her comfort at all, even if it might have done so for Ragnar. In any case, even with Lagertha's patient explanation of a woman's body and his own, more personal experience with Thyri, he still wouldn't have known the first thing about how to help beyond standing around and saying calming things.

So, shut out from the event as it happened, he tried his best to busy himself with other things, though Aslaug's pained cries were evident even some distance away from where she was giving birth.

On his third pass at making sure the goats' pen was clean and well provisioned, he was stopped with a hand on his shoulder.

"I think the goats are fine, Athelstan." Helga grinned at him. She carried a large basket full of herbs and roots she'd bought from a market stall. Floki finally being fully well, and no longer in need of regular attention from the healers, they were now provisioning for their return to his remote cabin.

He smiled sheepishly at her. "You're right. Of course they are. It's just—" He winced as another loud cry pierced the air.

"You're nervous about Ragnar's child."

He sighed and shuffled his feet.

She nodded. "I understand. Births are a common thing, but it's not something familiar to you, is it?"

He shook his head. "Aside from animal births, my only experience with anything like this was Lagertha . . ."

"When she lost the baby, yes. I heard that you were nearby when it happened."

"I was. I was actually . . ." He hesitated, wondering how much he should say.  "I was keeping her company that night, as she was feeling unwell." More than two years on, the memories were still as clear as if it had happened yesterday, even though so many, many things had changed since then.

"That must have been frightening for you, I'm sure."

He smiled weakly. "It was, yes. Ragnar and Aslaug have told me not to worry this time, but I still do. I can't help it."

"Well." She shrugged. "I won't lie to you. You're right to worry."

His mouth dropped open and he stared at her. "What?"

"I'm sure they just didn't want to make you especially nervous, but the truth is that every pregnancy and birth is a time for concern." She sounded almost nonchalant, even as shocking as her words were to him. "Of course most times it all turns out just fine, but it's not as if losing the baby or worse is uncommon. Many women or their babies die in the birthing bed. It's something every girl thinks about as soon as she is old enough to bleed. There is a reason we have midwives and other wise women to attend to us. It is a brave—and perhaps foolish—woman who would attempt to do this entirely alone. Men may risk death every time they step on the battlefield, but we women also risk it every time the gods fill us with child." She nodded back toward the earl's quarters. "The risks for a first-time birth are especially grave, since a woman's body is not yet accustomed to the event."

He frowned at her. "I . . . this is not making me feel better, Helga."

She laughed lightly. "I say this not to make you more fearful or upset. Just to tell you that your instincts, at least, are not unwarranted. Even though it is not your wife or your child, it's still understandable that you would be concerned. You shouldn't be ashamed of having normal feelings about it."

He felt himself relaxing somewhat. Oddly, her words did have some comfort to them. He suddenly tensed again, however, when another—long and agonized--scream issued forth.

Helga caressed his arm soothingly. "It seems like things are nearing an end."

"It does?"

As if to prove her words, the next sounds he heard were triumphant whooping and cheers from Ragnar and the women attending the birth. Shortly after was a hearty squall from the baby.

"See?" She leaned forward, throwing an arm around his shoulders for a quick hug.

He hugged her back and giggled in relief. "I do see!" He pulled back and scanned her face. "How is it that you know so much, though? You're a young woman. I didn't think you had had children already."

She shook her head. "I haven't. I'm the oldest of seven and my mother was a midwife. I've been present at at least two dozen births. You tend to pick things up after all that."  

"Oh! Yes, I suppose you would. That must have been an interesting way to grow up, though. Maybe sometime you can—"

"Athelstan!" Ragnar burst through the door, his face flushed and his hands wet and a little bloody. "Come see! Come meet my son!"

"Are you sure?" He asked Ragnar. "I don't want to bother Aslaug."

Ragnar grabbed his arm. "Of course I'm sure. She's tired, but she's fine. And so is my son. Everything's fine. Everything is perfect!"  

Helga laughed. "Go on, priest. This is a good day. The gods have smiled on us."

He turned back to her as he was dragged away. "I guess they have! Thank you."

"You're welcome!" She waved and ambled away.

"What are you thanking her for?" Ragnar propelled him toward the open door.

"Nothing. Just some kind words. I was worried, and she—Oh! Oh, my." He stopped short just inside the door as the vision greeted him.

Aslaug was sitting up in bed, a moist, squriming bundle at her breast while the women attending her finished clearing away the mess. She smiled tiredly. "You can come see him, Athelstan."

Ragnar rushed over, kneeling at the bedside and happily petting both his wife and child.

Athelstan moved more gingerly, almost afraid to make too much noise lest he upset the baby. As he approached, he finally saw its face. Red, and with an odd smattering of hair and traces of some sort of white paste he figured he was better off not knowing about, it was nonetheless the face of a healthy, if very small, human. The child blinked, his watery blue eyes still getting used to the light, and he suckled hungrily from his mother.

"This is Ubbe," Ragnar said quietly, a smile seemingly permanently attached to his face.

Athelstan cleared his dry throat, and whispered, "Hello, Ubbe! I'm pleased to meet you." Tentatively, he leaned over and reached out a hand. Aslaug nodded, and he gently lay a few fingers on the child's shoulder. All at once, he was overcome by a strong feeling—something he'd never before experienced. He felt love, he felt joy, and he felt an intense urge to protect and care for this tiny person. The child wasn't even his and yet somehow he felt connected to him anyway. He could only imagine that Ragnar and Aslaug's feelings must be tenfold his. It was, in short, humbling.

Ubbe broke away from the nipple, and made a small, bleating noise. He reached up with an impossibly tiny hand, and clutched at Athelstan's thumb.

Ragnar laughed. "I think he said he's happy to meet you, too."

Athelstan giggled nervously, and gently pulled his hand back. The baby then sneezed—an adorable sound—and went back to gobbling down his first meal. Athelstan couldn't quite think of anything useful to say, but in his mind he recited a small blessing, and then, to his surprise, followed it with another short plea to Freyja. So much did he love this child that he wanted all possible gods to watch over him.

Ragnar stroked Ubbe's damp hair, and kissed his head. "Welcome to Midgard, my son." He looked up at Aslaug, and then at Athelstan. "Welcome to your family."  


End file.
